Things Aren't Always What They Seem
by VoyICJ
Summary: Another respronse to the latest Chelsie Anon prompt. When Charles' shorts are found torn and crumbled in the library, Elsie jumps to conclusions.


I still don't anything and don't make money from this.

Again my most heartfelt thanks goes to _Kouw_, who has taken the time to give this a good going-over and without whose encouragement I couldn't have done this.

For the purpose of this story I had to slightly alter the prompt, but the alterations are minor and I hope can be forgiven.

**Things Aren't Always What They Seem**

Elsie sailed into the library at the young maid's curse, her scowl turning to surprise to find her lying on the carpet, one hand caught in the undercarriage of the new electric carpet sweeper, "Lucy!" "Something's stuck," the girl grunted, "Got it!" Turning the torn fabric to & fro and finally checking inside what turned out to be a pair of men's undershorts, she tried to decipher the embroidery, "Lord Merton was the last to stay here but these spell out, C-A-R-..." What happens next?

"I can't read the rest Mrs. Hughes, it's too badly torn and a part of it seems to be missing," Lucy stared at the shorts in deep concentration. Elsie forced herself to take deep breaths. Lucy wasn't the brightest of her maids; maybe she wouldn't draw the logical conclusion.

"Oh my god, do you think they are Mr. Carson's?" Lily exclaimed in excitement.

Elsie quickly walked over to the maid and ripped the shorts from her hands. "Don't be daft, girl," she took a quick peek at the shorts and the embroidered name. "The CAR stands for Carringtons; it's the manufacturer who produces the underclothes for all male staff members."

Elsie waited with baited breath whether Lucy would call her bluff. If the girl knew that Elsie was lying through her teeth, the housekeeper would sack her on the spot. The girl had no business knowing what the male staff's underwear looked like.

"Oh well," Lucy sounded disappointed at the explanation. "I didn't know that… but whose are they then? And how did they end up in the library?"

"I'm sure I don't know. I will have to speak to Mr. Carson about this and advise him to pay closer attention to his staff's doings after hours. Until we find the culprit, I want you to keep this to yourself. If I hear a word of this spoken downstairs, you will have to deal with the consequences," Elsie warned sternly and watched in satisfaction as Lucy gulped nervously. Now Elsie could only hope that Lucy wouldn't talk to the laundry maids to check the validity of Elsie's explanations. With a last glance around the room – checking for further incriminating evidence – Elsie swept outside, still clutching the shorts in her hands.

The housekeeper's steps were even and strident until she reached her sitting room, the offending shorts concealed underneath her arm. Once she had reached her private sanctuary though, her indifferent mask slipped. How on earth did his undershorts end up crumpled and torn in the library? Who had been with him? How could she not have noticed that he had obviously started a relationship with someone? Was this why he had been absent from her sitting room in the evenings lately?

Elsie had thought that his distance had to do with their handholding at the beach – with his ridiculous attempts of re-establishing a professional and proper working relationship between them. Now she realized that he had most likely simply found something _or someone_ better to do. She snorted in derision. Who was that woman? She racked her brains to come up with likely candidates. They had recently taken on a new housemaid but she was half his age for heaven's sake.

'Half your age… twice as beautiful' a dark voice menacingly spoke up in her mind. 'Time to accept that he doesn't want you, has never wanted you in the first place.' She groaned as if in pain as she realized what a fool she had made of herself at the beach, offering to steady him by holding his hand whenever he needed it. Turns out he didn't need it, probably hadn't needed it then. In all likelihood he had already been trying to come up with a way to woo the woman that had been involved in getting his shorts into their present pitiful state.

Angry tears welled up in her eyes. Anger directed at him and his stupid, lovely hazel eyes, anger at her own conviction of his feelings, at her middle-aged body. Anger about her inability not to feel so very, so deeply hurt by his deception.

A knock startled her out of her bitter musings. Ellie, the new maid, had a question about polishing the mahogany tables in the library. Elsie quickly shoved the butler's shorts into the top drawer of her desk and took a moment to muster the maid silently. The girl, well woman really, was tall, with a lean and toned body. Although wearing a cap, she offered peaks of shiny blonde locks. Was she the one? Elsie wondered. She had hired the girl with the hope of making her head-housemaid eventually. Her references had been stellar, she had seemed willing to work hard and had good working-techniques. Even Mr. Carson had been impressed with her – if only Elsie had known how much.

"When I hired you, I expected you to know your job. Apparently I was wrong," Elsie said with barely suppressed contempt. The other woman's eyebrows rose in surprise at the housekeeper's tone.

"I apologize Mrs. Hughes, we didn't have mahogany at Lord and Lady Mackintosh's house. I simply didn't want to risk damaging them." Ellie didn't sound half as intimidated as Mrs. Hughes had expected and wanted. The housekeeper took a deep breath and reminded herself that the other woman couldn't have known her deep connection to the butler. The girl hadn't been at the house long enough for that. If, however, Elsie's suspicions proved to be correct, she'd fire her without batting an eyelash. She couldn't allow such things to happen under her supervision.

"Alright, I'll join you in the library in a minute." Ellie gave a curt nod and left. Elsie hoped that in the course of the day she'd gather enough courage to confront Mr. Carson about them in the evening.

The matter was taken out of her hands though when a few hours later Mr. Carson himself reluctantly entered her sitting room, looking rather uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Hughes, but I was wondering if you were able to tell me which of your maids was responsible for cleaning the library this morning," he asked, his eyes settling on everything but her face. For a second Elsie was unable to breathe.

"I most certainly can Mr. Carson, but may I inquire as to why you need that particular information? Has there been complaint about the cleaning?" She fixed him with her solemn stare.

"Ah no, no there hasn't. It's simply that I seem to have misplaced a personal belonging of mine and I have the strong suspicion I might have lost it in the library," the butler explained, his face colouring ever so slightly. Elsie still continued to glare at him calmly before bending down and opening the topmost drawer of her desk. She pulled out his undershorts and put them in front of her on her desk.

"Would these by any chance be the missing belonging?" she asked archly. His face went beet red all the way to his ears. He stood a bit straighter in a desperate attempt to salvage some of his dignity.

"Yes, they would be," he said, his voice croaking uncomfortably.

"I don't think they can be saved," Elsie remarked – her voice detached, clinical.

"I tried to retrieve them this morning, but then breakfast ran late," he said and immediately bit his tongue. Why on earth would he say that?

"Yes, well… you can take them now."

He picked them up quickly, stuffing them into the pocket of his livery.

"I apologise Mrs. Hughes. Has the housemaid who found them made any comment?" He needed to know.

"Don't worry, I've dealt with her," Elsie's reply was curt, her eyes now fixed on the papers in front of her. When she realized that he was about to leave her room without any further explanation, she couldn't help stopping him. He'd not get away with this so easily.

"Oh and Mr. Carson." He had almost reached the door and turned around with a pained expression on his face – as if knowing exactly what was going to happen next. "The next time you decide to enjoy a tryst in his Lordship's private library, I suggest you do not leave incriminating evidence behind. I'd also appreciate it if you did not corrupt anymore of my housemaids."

He stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth gaping open. Then his face coloured again, but this time in a deep, angry red. His mouth closed into a thin line as he drew himself up to accentuate his height.

"Mrs. Hughes, I cannot believe that you would accuse me of such scandalous acts. I would think that we have known each other long enough for you to know that I would never behave in such a despicable and inappropriate way." Elsie didn't blink as she returned his angry glare.

"Well, sometimes Mr. Carson actions speak louder than words. I obviously don't know you half as well as I thought."

"In that case I'd appreciate it if you'd let me explain before you fling such unfounded theories around," he exclaimed hotly.

"You don't owe me an explanation. You owe me nothing Mr. Carson!" She exclaimed forcefully.

"What's that supposed to mean then?"

"It means that I don't need to know who you deem worthy of your affection and you don't need to explain to me how you spend your free time." She cursed inwardly as her voice took on a slightly hysterical note – a clear indication of her inner turmoil. Charles stared at her in confusion.

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean!" Charles exclaimed heatedly and Elsie knew that his voice easily carried through the walls and into the servants hall. "But I'll gladly share the embarrassing story of the torn shorts with you if it will keep you from destroying my good character."

And then he launched into the story of a book he wanted to borrow from the library, of taking his parcel of freshly laundered clothes with him because he was on his way to bed. He spoke of Isis following him without his noticing. With flying hands and increasing anger he painted vivid images of how the dog had managed to open the parcel which he had put on top of one the side tables and the subsequent game of tug-a-war that had erupted over his undershorts. His story concluded with the surprising arrival of Lady Edith, who had been unable to sleep and wanted to spend some time reading. He relayed his panic at hearing approaching footsteps and his ripping the shorts out of Isis' mouth and his feeble attempt at hiding his underwear from her Ladyship's eyes by pushing them under one of the bookshelves.

By the time he had finished his story he was breathing heavily, staring at her through hard eyes. Elsie was too shocked to react. She simply stared at him in horrification. With a huff he turned around and rushed from her sitting room, the door crashing against the wall. Just as she felt able to breathe again, he returned, walking up to her desk with forceful steps, causing her to crouch backwards in her chair, not knowing what to expect from the furious man that suddenly was so close as he towered over her desk.

"You know what the worst thing is?" he asked venomously. He then proceeded to slam a book on top of her desk. "This is the book I was looking for. I_ know_ you like the author and I heard his Lordship speaking about it arriving yesterday. I wanted to give it to you, because I _know_ how much you love reading before going to bed. I'm only sorry that I have spent so much time getting to know a woman who thinks so very little of me in return." She silently stared at D.H. Lawrence's 'Women in Love', her mouth opening and closing as she fought for control over her wild emotions.

And then she surprised both of them by doing the last thing anyone expected from her – she broke into tears. The first gut-wrenching sob escaped her before she had the chance to muffle the sound by pressing her hands to her face. Carson took a step back in surprise and alarm.

She turned away from him, trying to hide her shame, her mortification about all the accusations she had flung at him. She wasn't surprised when she heard the door to her sitting room closing softly. Charles Carson didn't deal well with crying women on the best of days – and he certainly wouldn't want to try with the woman who had taunted him about being a morally condemnable man.

Carson had closed the door, knowing that they had caused enough of an upheaval in the servants hall already. There was no need for the others to watch the housekeeper falling apart. He stood with his back to the door for a few seconds while he listened to her earnest crying – her sobs more refined now, almost silent as she pressed her hands tightly to her face. What finally broke him from his stupefied state were her broken mumblings of 'oh god' over and over as she shook her head. He walked over to her and put a gentle hand onto her shoulder. She was startled into looking up into his eyes.

It was true, crying women weren't beautiful. There was nothing beautiful about her puffy and red rimmed eyes, about her swollen nose and mouth, about the pallor of her skin. Still, the sight of her desperate blue eyes looking up at him touched him in a way he had never thought possible.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hughes, I didn't intend to frighten you or make you cry," he spoke softly. She shook her head, new tears gathering in her eyes, which she lowered again to stare at her hands lying idly in her lap.

"It's me who is sorry Mr. Carson! I should never have accused you of seducing housemaids. I don't know what came over me," she said quietly. He had wondered the same thing.

"I believe Mrs. Hughes, that you might have been a little jealous," he said carefully. The afternoon had been so very surreal that he didn't think he could make matters much worse by offering his presumption of the reason for her behaviour. She looked up sharply again, keenly aware of his hand that was still resting on her shoulder. She wanted to protest, call his explanation a lie.

"I'm afraid you might be right, Mr. Carson and I apologise for that as well. I know I have no right to be jealous. I know I'm not… you don't see me in that way. I can only hope that the knowledge of my inappropriate feelings will not affect our professional dealings," she tried to speak without emotion; tried to hide how much his expected refusal of her feelings would crush her. When he removed the hand from her shoulder, she lowered her eyes to her lap once more, desperately trying to stop her tears from falling. What was done, was done. She would allow herself a few more tears after he had left and then she'd try to go on with her life.

He didn't move away from her, though.

"It would appear that we don't know each other half as well as we thought, Mrs. Hughes. If you knew me, you'd be aware of the fact that if I were to have a… a tryst as you so aptly called it earlier, then there'd only be one woman with whom I'd ever want to have it," his voice was a tentative, soft rumbling. She looked up into his eyes and this time she wasn't able to stop her tears from spilling over.

"In light of recent events I think it would be a good idea if we got to know each other a little more closely, don't you think? We wouldn't want misunderstandings like this to happen frequently," he smiled and his eyes crinkled slightly. She only nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak. He held out his hand to her and she took it with a shaky breath. He pulled her up and encircled her waist with his right arm as his left hand gently wiped at the few remaining tears still making their way over her cheeks.

"There's one thing I've always wanted to know about you," she said shyly as she leaned her face into his palm that had come to rest on her cheek.

"And what is that?" he asked, amusement clear in his voice.

"How your lips would feel on mine," she breathed before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his. He immediately pulled her closer to him as her arms snaked around his neck. After a few delicious moments of enjoying each other's taste, Elsie pulled back, her eyes twinkling.

"I think I quite like getting to know you." Instead of replying Charles pressed her to him again before reclaiming her mouth with his.

A week later the missing torn piece of Charles Carson's undershorts was detected in Isis' basket by an amused housekeeper. The dog had never enjoyed a bigger piece of steak for dinner.

* * *

If you enjoyed the story (even if you didn't) I'd be ever so grateful for a review!


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